


Clean

by Not_You



Series: The Frank And Joan Thread [3]
Category: Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - She Who Must Be Obeyed, Anal Fingering, Bathing/Washing, Butt Plugs, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Femdom, Finger Sucking, First Time Bottoming, Frottage, Hand Feeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-20 18:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: When Joan says that she wants to bathe him, Frank has no idea what to think except that it doesn't sound actively unpleasant and that it will take more than a little embarrassment fluttering in his belly to stop him from giving Joan everything he can.





	1. Chapter 1

When Joan says that she wants to bathe him, Frank has no idea what to think except that it doesn't sound actively unpleasant and that it will take more than a little embarrassment fluttering in his belly to stop him from giving Joan everything he can. She tells him to come to dinner on Saturday night, and to bring a towel because she doesn't have very many and they are of course small, like her. Frank needs a goddamn beach towel, and as he tucks it into a bag, is just glad to have one suited to his age and gravity, just red and grey stripes. 

He also brings a bottle of the raspberry Italian soda Joan likes so much, and a pretty little brooch that seems like something she might actually like and wear. It's no big deal, just some pretty glass on silver-toned metal, but it feels significant enough to make him wonder what the fuck is wrong with him. Since that's pretty much an eternal question with a horrible answer, Frank pushes it aside, picks up his bag, and heads down the hall to Joan's door at six o'clock sharp.

When Joan lets him in, he's actually dumbstruck for a moment, like a grade school kid realizing all of a sudden that if girls have cooties he'd like to catch a case. Joan always puts herself neatly together to go into public, and she's always cute at home with her own unadorned little face and her comfortable, shapeless clothes, but tonight she's glowing, wearing a neat little shirt-dress and the kind of noticeable, capably-applied evening makeup that he has never seen her bother with before. It looks incredible on her, and she has done something subtle to her hair, making it wave just a little, soft and pretty.

With the door shut behind him, Frank goes his knees, bag resting beside him. "Evening, miss," he says softly, and Joan strokes his hair.

"Sweetheart," is all she says, but it's kind of all she needs to say. He leans into her hand like a dog, and it's hard to even feel weird about that anymore. "What have you brought?" she asks after a moment.

"My towel, Italian soda and a present, miss," he says, and she leans down to kiss him on the forehead before getting him to stand up, stash the bottle in the fridge, set the little cardboard jewelry box on the table for later, and help her to make some kind of salad with fresh herbs and arugula.

Frank has mostly gotten over feeling like a hulking menace in Joan's neat little apartment, but the kitchen is close and Joan tends toward the kind of dainty dishware that makes a guy feel like a giant in the land of normal men. Still, he's glad to be here, and Joan moves around him as trustingly as a bird does its home tree. She asks him about his day, and giggles to hear about the travails of camera makeup.

Once he has helped all he can, Joan sends him to wash up and sit at the table, out of the way. He leaves the towel bag in the bathroom and tries not to think too far ahead. The tub is the good kind, porcelain over cast iron, with feet and everything. It actually looks like he'll fit pretty well, when he had outgrown the usual size by the time he was sixteen. Out at the table he makes sure that the box is out of Joan's way as she brings dishes from the kitchen, and she smiles to see him moving it.

"Thanks, angel," she says, and the pet name is so goddamn inappropriate that it warms Frank down to his toes with a mixture of embarrassment and affection.

"Need any help?"

"No, it's a little chicken," she says, going back for it. "You can carry my dish to Thanksgiving dinner," she calls over her shoulder. Apparently some local church encourages people to bring an enormous batch of something to share with the homeless. Frank still isn't sure he can handle going, but a task would help.

Over dinner, Joan asks Frank about hand-feeding, and he does his best not to blush himself to death. "I... I think I'd like that a lot, miss," he says softly, and Joan beams at him. She doesn't feed him any of this meal, but does fill and re-fill his plate in a way that means way too much.

"We'll have dessert after your bath," Joan says, and Frank just nods, not sure he can speak.

At least Joan has the mercy to open her present now, and the way she smiles down at the brooch is worth all the trouble he took picking it out. It's shaped like a tiny and abstract bouquet, each blossom represented by a gleaming stone. She pins it onto her dress and it looks like it belongs there. Joan thanks him with a kiss, and then tells him to clear the table while she goes to set the scene. Frank does as he's told, and tries to keep his hands from shaking.

It seems like at least a thousand years before Joan calls him in, but it probably takes a while to fill that tub. At long last Frank goes to join her, taking a deep breath before he opens the door. It's dim inside, lit by strategically placed candles, the whole place is filled with the soft scent of lavender and the quiet sound of water. Joan smiles, perched on the edge of the bath in a diaphanous little thing that Frank wouldn't have thought she even owned, her dress hanging up beside the towels. She gestures for Frank to come closer, and he does, belly fluttering with mostly-good anxiety.

Frank isn't really sure where this fits on his sexual continuum. Joan has already sucked him off, that's pretty clear-cut, but this whole being bathed thing isn't. The lack of definition makes him a little more nervous. It still isn't bad, just enough to make him almost painfully conscious of everything as he strips.

Between the military and SHIELD, Frank has undressed in front of a lot of people, but he can feel himself flushing a little under Joan's level gaze as he pulls his shirt off. Space is at a premium, so he folds it and hangs it over the rod by the sink, meant for hand towels. He slides out of his pants and his boxers to get it over with and then quickly pulls off his socks because a man naked except for black socks is ridiculous and too much like the kind of porn he's proud not to make.

"Sweet boy," Joan croons as Frank neatly hangs the rest of his clothes, "come here."

"Yes, miss," he says, and knows that his ears are red. It's still new, and he wonders when it will stop making his heart pound just to say it.


	2. Chapter 2

Frank climbs into the tub, thinking again that baths aren't really a thing he does. Showers are quicker and cleaner, and this does turn out to be the first tub he has comfortably fit into since he was about sixteen. The porcelain is very smooth, and the water is warm but not steaming. Joan waits for him to get comfortable, and then strokes his hair, smiling down at him.

"Ready, sweetheart?" she asks, and Frank takes a deep breath and nods.

He's not sure if he'll really ever be ready, but he wants Joan's hands on him. Frank has been in plenty of weird situations involving his own nudity since joining SHIELD, but this one is personal rather than professional, and he's man enough to admit that that's why it's getting to him. It's also weird to be a grown man being bathed by a second party when his arms aren't broken, but pretty much everything that involves Joan touching him is good. She starts to wash him with some kind of floral-scented goop, and he does his best to just relax into her touch. She's humming some tune he can't place, but whatever it is, it's restful.

Joan is as gentle with Frank as she always is, careful of his various scars and lingering everywhere he enjoys it most. She doesn't pinch his nipples, but rubs slow circles over them that make him shudder. It's fucking ridiculous that he's got a lump in his throat and he's getting hard at the same fucking time, but at least he knows that Joan won't freak out if he cries. That knowledge lets him relax a little into her hands, and soon he's making a weird, low, purring noise, almost a counterpoint to Joan's humming.

She chuckles. "There you go," she murmurs. "Just like that."

Time sort of slips away from Frank after that. At some point Joan guides him to lie back against the slanted end of the tub so that she can work on his legs. She starts at his feet, and Frank can't help an embarrassing little moan as she kneads the tension out of his arches. Joan chuckles, rubbing an affectionate hand up and down his calf for a moment before getting back to his feet.

"I like hearing you so relaxed," she says, and Frank shivers and makes a quiet, formless noise. Joan chuckles, and grips his ankles for a moment with her tiny hands. It makes Frank want to be bound, and he whimpers as Joan washes his calves. She starts rubbing slow circles behind his knees when she realizes that he likes it, and he whines, struggling to not clutch at her with his wet hands. "Good boy," she murmurs as Frank reaches up behind his head to clutch at the rim of the tub. Her hand wrapped around his cock makes him groan, but she only pauses for a moment, just feeling him up, delicately enough to be exasperating. Her fingertips move over his balls and up behind them and then they're rubbing right over his hole and he can't help flinching hard enough to splash a little.

"It's all right," Joan croons, still just rubbing, "I would never put anything inside you without your permission."

Frank really does know that, and makes himself relax, helped along by the steady motion of Joan's fingertips. Maria used to touch that spot behind his balls, but the closest he has come to anything like this is dodging the questing fingers of girls who thought guys liked this, Jeez, Frank. Joan doesn't shove or dig, she just lets him feel her, just barely pressing as Frank goes from 'not actually tense' to 'melted.' 

He finds himself trying to sink down onto Joan's fingertips almost before he knows it, chest heaving and hands aching with how hard he's gripping the rim of the tub. A little more pressure and Joan almost is pushing inside him now and he wants her to, wants to find out what it's like to have a couple of her slender fingers buried inside him. He lets out a high, soft sound on each exhale, pressing down and whining when Joan draws back.

"Angel, would you like something inside you?" she asks, and Frank can feel tears pricking at his eyes because she's always so fucking gentle.

"Yes, miss," he gasps, "please." 

He's pretty sure that just the first joint of her forefinger could slide into him with no help but the water, but of course Joan wants to take him out of the tub and dry him off and find real lube. Frank does his best not to whimper or complain, and stands up on shaky legs. He steps onto the bath mat, Joan at his side more for moral than any other kind of support. He knows that if he slipped and fell he would take her right with him, and so he is as careful as he knows how to be. Once he's standing on the mat, he follows Joan's instructions to brace his hands on the wall so she can towel him off. He's feeling syrupy and strange again, and Joan coos reassuringly to him while she works. After he's dry enough, she hangs the towel up and goes on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Frank whines, and shudders all over, hands still pressed to the wall.

"Come to bed, sweet boy," she says, and Frank drops to the floor, crawling to the bedroom after her. 

Joan coaxes him up onto the bed and rolls him onto his belly, where he does his best not to hump the mattress as she kisses the back of his neck and tells him to stay, getting up and going to the closet. Frank stays very still and counts his breaths. It feels like forever, but it's not very many breaths before Joan is back, setting something on the nightstand and then kissing her way up from his tailbone to the nape of his neck. He shudders, and she stretches out beside him, kissing the corner of his mouth as her lubricated fingertips find his hole again. 

Joan just rubs for a moment, and then adds more pressure with each tiny stroke until her first finger just slides in like it belongs there. Frank has been moaning quietly with every breath, but he cries out now, and whimpers when Joan makes a careful beckoning gesture, questing around until she finds a spot that makes Frank afraid that he's going to scream or somehow piss himself while rock hard or explode. He does none of these things, but it feels like a close call. It's hard to drag in enough air on each breath, and his skin feels too small for his body, tight and hot and helpless. 

Frank's mouth is hanging open now, and he makes a sound he has no name for when Joan pushes the first two fingers of her free hand into his mouth. It's a real reach for her, small as she is, and Frank draws his knees up and rises a little, wanting to make it easier. Her fingers in his mouth muffle the cry he lets out at the way the change of position forces her other hand deeper, and he moans and sucks on them, not even caring about breathing anymore.

"Good boy," Joan murmurs, stroking him a little while longer and then sliding her fingers out of him. The ones still in his mouth muffle his dismal whine, and Joan chuckles. She reaches over to the nightstand and then holds a slim black butt plug where Frank can see it. 

It's only a little thicker than her two fingers, and Frank gasps, "Yes, miss," when Joan asks him if he wants it.


	3. Chapter 3

Frank had a basic working knowledge of sex toys before SHIELD acquired him, but he has never been on the receiving end of any of them. There's a moment when Joan just lines the tip of the plug up against his hole when everything is really, really weird, and then it slides into him as inevitably as her fingers had. He makes one surprised little high-pitched noise, and then subsides into what Maria had always called purring, a deep, happy rumble in his chest.

Joan giggles, and leans around to kiss his cheek. "There you go," she murmurs, and nudges him to roll onto his back. He obeys, gasping quietly as the way it makes the plug shift inside him. "Comfortable?" Joan asks, and he nods.

"Y-yes, miss," he gasps, and then just lies there feeling his heartbeat in his cock as Joan sits up to wipe her hands and to pluck a condom from the nightstand. He whines sharply as she rolls it onto him, unable to help himself, trembling as Joan straddles him. She's up at his waist, so she can lean in and kiss him, and Frank can feel his cock twitch, aching for contact.

Joan takes her time about kissing Frank, really savoring him as he trembles and whines and clutches at her hips when she guides his hands there. She's so bony and delicate that he tries hard to keep the pressure even and not bruising. He follows her when she slides back and then doesn't actually take him inside. Instead she grinds on him, so wet he can hear it, and Frank just holds onto her and groans, rutting up against her. Every tiny movement makes the plug shift inside him

"That's right," she coos before he can worry about it, and then she braces her hands on his chest, sinking her nails in as she rides him. 

Frank pushes up into those burning points, whimpering, and then cries out when Joan lets go so she can lean in and run her tongue over the marks she has left. His voice cracks on a sob when she sucks on one nipple and pinches the other and he's filled with the wild urge to beg her to slap him, craving that sharp sensation but afraid to put her off when she's so deeply present. He howls as she speeds up, and then holds his breath because he's pretty sure that Joan is coming, jerking and fluttering against him and he doesn't want to miss a single second of it. She barely makes any sound, just a sharp little gasp, shoulders hunched and head bowed. 

Her hands are on his chest again, trembling, and Frank takes one of them and kisses it. After a moment Joan strokes his cheek, still catching her breath. Frank turns his head to kiss her palm, and then moans as Joan starts to move again, slow and hard and then speeding up until Frank is clawing at the sheets because he knows he's bruise her if he tried to hold onto her now. He's dimly surprised not to have slid inside her by accident by now, and then he's coming, biting onto his forearm to keep back the kind of titanic sound that could get the cops called.

When Frank finally stops shaking, Joan rubs gently at the hinge of his jaw, coaxing him to let go. He whimpers, and his eyes spill over as she crawls up and kisses him, her cunt even slicker now. Frank shudders and does his best to just keep breathing as Joan kisses his tears away, murmuring that he's a good boy. He just lies there and lets Joan clean him up, biting his lip when she pulls the plug out of him. He kind of wants to keep it, and lets out a little voiced gasp, high and helpless, when Joan casually pushes two fingers into him where he's still slick and open. His legs tremble and he pants as she strokes him just a little, not enough to make him ache.

"God, you're beautiful like this," she whispers, and Frank whimpers, biting his lip. It starts to hurt a little just because he's trying to get hard again too soon, and Joan must see it in his face because she slips her fingers out again, and then kisses Frank's forehead and tells him to be a good boy, that she'll be back within three minutes.

"Yes, miss," Frank breathes, and counts off the seconds until she gets back. It only takes about ninety, and then she's bathing him again, with a washcloth and a basin of hot water. She cleans herself, too, and then stretches out next to Frank, pulling the covers over them as she hugs his head. This time Frank whispers, "Miss? May I suck on these?"

"Yes, angel," she says softly, and he sighs, pulling one pebbled brown nipple into his mouth. They stay like this for a while, but then Joan gently reminds Frank that she promised him dessert. When she gets up and puts on a robe he crawls after her, blushing at the way each movement reminds him of the plug.

Joan smiles down at him as they approach the kitchen. "The linoleum will be hard on your knees," she says, "let me get you a towel."

Frank waits, and once Joan has a folded towel on the floor by her chair, he kneels on it. He's starting to get a little chilled, and Joan takes one of the soft little blankets that haunt the couch and puts it around his shoulders. "There," she says, and fetches a cake from the fridge, setting it on the table and sitting down, stroking Frank's hair when he automatically leans his head on her knee. "Such a sweet boy," Joan says softly, and breaks off a bite of fluffy yellow cake, offering it to Frank. He blinks at it, then realizes that she really does mean to hand-feed him, and blushes again. He opens his mouth and takes it, sweet and moist and delicately lemon-flavored. "Good?" Joan asks, and it's all Frank can do to whisper, "yes, miss."

Between bites, Frank is glad to see that Joan has some cake of her own, and he sighs, kissing her fingertips after his next morsel. She smiles down at him and strokes his hair before leaning down to kiss his forehead again. After she sits up, she feeds him more cake. Frank has lost track of time, but after Joan has fed him two slices of cake and eaten one of her own, she leads him back to bed, where she dims the lights and cuddles close, resting her head on his chest. Frank sighs, clinging to her as he starts to... well, come up, he supposes, from wherever it is Joan puts him. He shivers and then pets Joan's sleek hair, feeling all over again how small she is, the way he can cradle her skull in his palm. He loves her and the realization isn't exactly a surprise, but it _hurts_ , just the same. Like something being re-broken to heal right. He kisses the top of Joan's head and does his best not to cry.

"Sweetheart?" Joan murmurs, looking up at him, and Frank scrubs his eyes with the back of one hand.

"I just—fuck." He stares at the ceiling and blinks hard.

"You're having emotions and you can't deal with them," Joan says gently, "I understand." Something about her tone pushes Frank right out the other side, and he starts to laugh.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [fall into your arms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016641) by [AliuIce0814](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814)




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